


Souring

by estuarie



Series: Quicksilver [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Good Cop Bad Cop, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mairon-Typical Cruelty, Multi, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estuarie/pseuds/estuarie
Summary: Ossë followed Melkor out of Valinor.He's regretting it, but the time of his choice is past.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Ossë/Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Quicksilver [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044606
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Souring

**Author's Note:**

> This is genuinely nasty stuff. All I can say is sorry. But I could not get this out of my head, it just felt like a... natural conclusion to the lowkey abusive themes in the last one?
> 
> Also, I have no idea what the rules are over where the divide between normal and obsessive interest goes, but I sure am toeing that line with the angry water boy.

After a while, Ossë comes to realize that he has merely exchanged one set of restraints for another.

Melkor has his _plans_ and his _aspirations,_ and Mairon keeps being his own, obstinate self. None of it is actually fun. Melkor keeps him on a short leash, ever near the two of them, and he just _hates_ it. And the worst part of it is that he knows he could leave -- but there is something in him that resists it violently. Something that keeps him tethered, even when storms rage outside and he still isn't allowed to leave.

Melkor has him firmly in his arms tonight, both of them bare and sloppily covered by a blanket. It is ostensibly a comforting position, but his attention is taken by the tangle of their legs that shackles his ankles -- the iron band of Melkor’s arm pressing his wrists against his chest. By now he knows very well that the only reason he ever is held is to restrain him and control him.

And he is in a terrible mood.

Mairon makes a fire between his fingers and sets it in the hearth between logs. He is dressed down, wrapped in a white linen robe, and his red hair falls elegantly over one shoulder. When he stands up it is a fluid, smooth motion, and he casts a deep shadow onto the red carpet. Ossë pulls away his toes from its edge, curling closer to Melkor in petty annoyance. Melkor hums and adjusts the position of his arms so he has a better grip.

"Are you still pouting?" Mairon asks as he turns to look at them and closes the distance between them. As he moves properly in front of the fire, the shadow moves as well, washing them in its blackness. Ossë bares his teeth though he cannot even see Mairon's expression after staring at the fire for so long. Mairon sighs dramatically and moves to the window, drawing the curtains.

"Open them," Ossë snaps. He hears how deep and angry his own voice is, but cannot make it any different. "Let me at least _look_ at the rain."

"It does you no good, obviously," Mairon says. Ossë turns to scowl at Melkor and maybe try to plead with him, but it is immediately obvious that the Vala won't disagree with his dear Lieutenant.

"He is right, my darling," Melkor says softly and kisses his cheek. “It only upsets you.” Ossë snarls and tries to bite, and Mairon immediately grabs his hair.

"Maybe you should try being nice for a while," the fire spirit hisses, like coal in a bowl of water. Ossë tries to wrench himself free again but doesn't quite manage -- Melkor is stronger than him. Mairon laughs without humour or kindness. "If it were up to me, you'd be in chains until this mood passes. You ought to be grateful."

"He is right, you know," Melkor says softly, as though he doesn’t want to admit it. "We could have you strapped down. But I know you cannot control yourself, I would not wish to see you cruelly restrained."

"What difference would it make?" Ossë snaps and tries to squirm free again. He can't even change his fana, the Vala is suppressing his powers. Otherwise, he might turn into mere fog and drift out of the window, or ditch his physical form altogether.

"I could demonstrate that for you," Mairon says. "Give me three hours, and I will have you crying for Melkor's arms, you ungrateful brat."

Ossë turns to look at him, but it's a mistake: immediately as his eyes meet with Mairon's, the fire spirit spits on his face.

"Mairon!" Melkor admonishes as Ossë cries out wordlessly, even more furious than before. He is close to _screaming_. Melkor's hand comes up to wipe off the spittle. "Mairon, do not make it more difficult for him."

"Do it!" Ossë yells. His voice sounds like a ship torn in two by rapids. "Do it! Put me in chains! That would be a lesser evil than being stuck here between you."

He can _feel_ Melkor's disapproving sadness and if he weren't so very angry he would probably regret it. As things stand, though, he just squirms once more and tries to free himself. Mairon grins and squats down in front of him. He looks angry, too, more so than usual, and Ossë shivers. Mairon has never liked him, and he has never liked Mairon, and often it feels like they are simply fighting for Melkor's attention. It usually seems to end up like this: with Mairon on top, free to taunt and intimidate him, while he is being restrained by Melkor.

"You do not mean that," Melkor says gently and his hand comes up to caress Ossë's throat. "Let me take you two to a bed. There is no need for chains."

"He will never learn to listen to you if you keep letting him off the hook," Mairon says. "You enjoy chaining others. Why not him?"

Melkor doesn't answer. Mairon grins.

"He would be beautiful if he weren't so wild," he says, almost sweetly. "Imagine how he'd look, chained to a chair, exposed for anyone. Forced into obeying any passer-by who might want him. It would do him so much good. We wouldn't have to look far for volunteers, I am sure at least Gothmog has been looking. And those orcs of yours don’t care what they get their pricks wet in."

Ossë makes a noise in the back of his throat -- it's suspiciously much like a whimper. He presses against Melkor now, tries to escape the burning eyes of Mairon. When he does that, he can feel that the scene that Mairon paints has affected Melkor. There is a bulge pressing against his thigh, warm and solid, and his next breath has him trembling violently. He is confused and angry and afraid, and the storm is still going on outside. He could be there under the rain, dancing in the waves. Instead he is here, trapped between a Vala he likes and a Maia he hates, being used for his powers and for... this.

"Are you frightened?" Melkor asks.

"No," Ossë says but it's such a blatant lie that he actually blushes. He hates this. Hates everything about this.

"I will not let him hurt you," Melkor says and there is humour in his voice, but it is genuinely nice to hear. Ossë closes his eyes and curls closer, subtly rubbing himself against the emerging arousal he feels against his thigh. It's the least he can do. Melkor chuckles and caresses down his back, then down the outside of his thigh. One arm is still keeping a vice grip around his torso and arms.

"Oh, look," Mairon says and his voice is full of mocking. "Now, all of a sudden, Melkor isn't the worst thing in the world. You are disgustingly spoiled."

"Mairon," Melkor sighs. "Come on. Let's take this to the bed."

Despite himself, Ossë likes the way Melkor lifts him up, one arm behind his knees and another at his back. There is a subtle feeling of being cherished, even if it's largely drowned out by his anger and violent sadness. He ignores the way Mairon rolls his eyes and just loops his arms around Melkor's neck.

He doesn't let go even as he is set down: he forces Melkor to follow him down into the bed. The Vala laughs and crawls over him, boxing him in between his warm arms.

"Will you let me kiss you?"

Ossë nods and opens his mouth into the kiss immediately. If he isn't going to be let out, then at least he might try to distract himself. Melkor goes in gently, but soon Ossë forces the kiss to turn violent and hard, until he is clinging to Melkor's waist by his legs and grinding against him in frantic movements of his hips. He feels the bed dip near his head as Mairon gets onto it but it doesn't really even irk him anymore. He even reaches up and out for Mairon, and gets his wrists pressed into the bed for his trouble. Melkor lifts his head and laughs as he sees them.

"You and your _restraints_ , my flame," he says and leans to pet Mairon's hands. "Mmm. I wonder..."

"Spit it out," Mairon says smoothly, softly, not sounding affected at all. It's a quality Ossë hates and envies: the ability to control his voice perfectly, to sound composed in whatever situation he is in. Melkor hums and grinds his hips down.

"Were I to keep him _restrained_ for you, would you want to take him?"

Ossë draws in a shuddering breath and Mairon goes quiet.

"How would you do that?" he eventually asks. "How would you wish me to use your plaything?"

"I would have him sit in my lap," Melkor purrs and looks down at Ossë, dark eyes blazing. Ossë squirms under the weight of that gaze. "Hold up his legs, perhaps, allow you between them. Keep him well exposed for you. Ready to be taken."

Mairon laughs and his smooth hands slide up Ossë's arms. He and Melkor kiss leisurely.

"Do not lose time, then," he says when they part. "I am willing to do this for you only once."

Melkor laughs and yanks Ossë up roughly, turning him so he is looking at Mairon.

"I do not think you even believe that yourself," he says and bites Ossë's ear as though on an afterthought. Mairon rolls his eyes but is smiling.

"Well, are you going to prepare him for me as well?" he asks. Melkor hums as he arranges Ossë against himself, spreading his legs wide apart.

"You should," he says. "I shall keep him contained for you while you do it."

Ossë doesn't even try to free his arms from where they rest, trapped between his own legs and Melkor's arms. He just allows the treatment. Maybe he doesn't want to find out if he'd be allowed to leave. Maybe he just wants to be held like he is some precious item.

Mairon looks almost disinterested as he presses burning fingers onto Ossë's lips. Ossë takes them into his mouth without fighting and lets them play with his tongue and coat themselves in saliva. Melkor's hands squeeze him closer and he feels a chin hook over his shoulder.

"Why are you so quiet, my sweet?"

"Likely because he has my fingers in my mouth," Mairon says. "Don't bother yourself over it. Let him sulk if he wishes to."

Ossë growls deep in his throat and tries to pull away, but there is nowhere to go: Mairon simply pushes further in, nudges the back of his throat. He refuses to gag and Mairon chuckles humourlessly, his fingers petting the sensitive flesh.

"Yes, please prolong my pleasure. Do you think I can't make you retch? I could force you to dry-heave until your throat is cramping and you're begging me to stop."

"Mairon," Melkor says softly, now nuzzling his face into the side of Ossë's neck. "Be nicer to him."

Mairon huffs and pulls out his fingers. Ossë swallows more than a couple of times: there is a subtle pain in the back of his throat and he is beginning to be scared about what Mairon might (or might not) do to prepare him. But to his surprise, the other Maia is quite gentle as he circles a single finger around his hole, pushing in with a small, soft movement, mindful of his nails. There is something nearly tender about it, especially as Mairon places his other hand delicately on his inner thigh.

"Just like that," Melkor murmurs. He is fully hard against Ossë's back now. Ossë keeps his peace, stays still, only watching Mairon. He knows he should feel good, especially as Mairon slips in a second finger to grind against his insides, but he doesn't -- he is just disinterested, really. Still, he is half-hard, and that seems enough.

By the time Mairon pushes in, he is almost asleep with his eyes open, relaxed against Melkor and opening easily for the intrusion. He is tired. He is dejected. He is trapped here through his own actions, and he has only bad options left. The storm rages outside of the building, but also inside him.

Paradoxically, he is now fully aroused and when Mairon starts thrusting in, his fana seems to feel something he doesn't: gasps are wrenched out of his throat without his consent or effort. Mairon doesn't look at him, which makes everything easier.

Melkor never lets go of him. Not even when the Maiar have sated themselves and Mairon nudges himself between Ossë and Melkor to bring the Vala to completion. The milky come ends up on Mairon's face and neck, and Melkor licks it up.

Ossë closes his eyes and falls asleep.

When he wakes, he is not being held anymore. Mairon is gone and Melkor is asleep, having rolled away from him during their rest. The storm has ended. Fire is not burning in the fireplace anymore. He has no idea how long it has been.

He moves inch by inch. Always ready to pretend to sleep. Melkor doesn't stir. Perhaps the long fight to keep Ossë's powers away tired him.

Ossë stands up slowly. Tiptoes to the door. Opens the door, goes through, closes it behind himself. Still doesn't even try to change his fana.

The corridor is empty. The windows are shut. Ossë feels his heart pound in his chest as he brings his fingers to the latch. Cracks the window open.

The fresh scent of rain invades his senses and he dissolves into it.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So, um. I might write a Hurt/Comfort sequel to this, it's a bit much to just swish my cape and go "my work here is done".


End file.
